A Different Picture
by writergal85
Summary: SERIES 6 SPOILERS. Shelagh worries, Sister Ursula suspects, and Angela draws a family portrait.
1. Chapter 1

Shelagh Turner tapped a stack of files together and glanced at her wristwatch. For once, clinic was running ahead of schedule, thanks to Sister Ursula's new intake system. And today, Shelagh would welcome a chance to leave early.

Her troubles had begun that morning with a phone call from Mrs. Penney, who had come down with the flu. She wouldn't be able to watch Angela, so Shelagh had to bring her along to the maternity home. All day, she and Patrick had taken turns entertaining the two-year-old and keeping her out of the medical supply cabinets. They'd arrived late to clinic, and Patrick had had to rush off to set up his cubicle. Shelagh had left their daughter in the crafts corner, grateful for an hour respite.

The egg salad she'd had for lunch had disagreed with her, so she'd snuck a packet of Rennies out of the supplies. But Sister Ursula had waylaid her before she could ease her nausea.

"So sorry we were late, Sister. I'm afraid that's my fault. Our babysitter called in sick today and we've had to bring Angela along."

Sister Ursula looked at her with arched eyebrows. "We run a clinic, Mrs. Turner. Not a nursery."

Shelagh froze, her stomach churning from indignation. She'd heard about Sister Ursula's plans to cut down on expenses at Nonnatus and run the order more efficiently. But no place for children at an antenatal clinic? It had taken all her self-control not to scoff at the nun.

"Angela will be perfectly happy coloring and playing with the other children," she said, with a forced grin.

Sister Ursula's mouth pursed in a tight smile. "Of course. But I wouldn't want you distracted from the tasks at hand. I've set up a new intake system. It worked quite well while you were in South Africa."

Sucking on an antacid, Shelagh had listened indignantly as Sister Ursula had explained the new patients' forms. Never mind that the old system worked perfectly well. And getting mothers used to a new one would take up even more time. The way Sister Ursula had talked about their time in South Africa made the trip sound like a vacation. She, Patrick, the nurses and the sisters had worked hard to bring proper medical care to Hope Clinic. She'd spent weeks away from her children to do it.

And distracted? Of course, she wasn't distracted. Never when a mother and her baby's health were at stake.

But Shelagh hadn't been able to hold on to her anger for long. After all, she wasn't the only one suffering under Sister Ursula's new regime. Under the new system, the nurses couldn't spend more than five minutes with each patient, and they had to run tests and perform exams as well. Shelagh felt dizzy just watching them. By the end of clinic, even Nurse Crane looked rushed off her feet.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Turner? You look a bit peaky," Nurse Gilbert asked, as she dropped off files for her last three patients.

"Fine. A little tired, that's all." A good night's rest would be a fine thing, Shelagh thought, swallowing back another wave of nausea. But the queasiness passed, and she smiled at the concerned girl. "How are the wedding plans coming?"

Barbara flushed. "Oh, we haven't even set a date yet. We're waiting until my parents can visit and meet Tom. To be honest, I'm a bit nervous about it."

"I'm sure you'll do just fine."

"Oh, it's not me I'm worried about," Barbara said, her eyes wide. "It's Tom." She touched the knuckle of her left ring finger, an unconscious action. "My father can be quite intimidating, I'm afraid."

Shelagh raised her eyebrows. "From what I know of Mr. Hereward, he is not the type to back down from a challenge. And I don't think you are either."

Barbara looked up, her smile sheepish but thankful. "Speaking of challenges," she said in a low voice. "I'd better get back to Nonnatus in time for dinner. Sister Ursula is rather keen on nutrition, and no indulgences at meal times. If I get back too late, there will be nothing left but crumbs!" The young nurse rushed off.

She should head home soon, too, Shelagh thought, otherwise they'd be eating dinner at midnight. Timothy could stop by the local chippy on his way home from school and save her the trouble. But Sister Ursula's cutting remark about "good nutrition" echoed in the back of her mind. Besides, Shelagh wasn't sure she wanted greasy chips, and especially not fish.

Shelagh finished organizing the files and went to collect her daughter. By the stoop of her small shoulders and the listless way she picked up the colored pencils, Shelagh could tell Angela was ready for home too. She knelt by her daughter's chair and prayed she could avoid a tantrum.

"Time for home, Angela." She reached for her daughter, but the two-year-old twisted away.

"No!" she declared, her tired limbs flopping against the table.

Shelagh could feel a headache creeping at her temples. "Angela, it's time for home now. Don't you want to see Timmy when he comes home from school?" Talking about an N-A-P would surely bring on tears. Mentioning Tim would be home soon might coax Angela out of her gloom long enough for them to walk back to the flat.

Her daughter made a noise halfway between a whine and a cry, and her face crumpled. Shelagh sat back on her heels and braced herself for an onslaught of tears.

"Hi Mum. Is clinic over already?"

Shelagh turned. Timothy towered over her, slouching under the weight of his schoolbag.

"Timothy! Yes, thank goodness. I'm afraid Mrs. Penney has the flu—"

"So, chippy for dinner?" he interrupted with a sly grin.

Shelagh sighed and conceded. "Only if you help me with your sister."

Timothy crouched at Angela's other side, his sharp knees sticking up over the edge of the craft table. "Hey Ange. What's that picture you drew?"

Angela's lower lip stopped wobbling, though her face remained red with pent-up tears.

"Why don't you show it to us?" Tim continued. "I'll bet Mum would love it."

Shelagh nodded and smiled encouragingly at her daughter. She took a seat in the wooden chair next to Angela. "Can Mummy see your picture?"

Angela hesitated. Then she grabbed the paper she'd been coloring on and with a tiny sigh, climbed into her mother's lap. She was getting heavier and taller, Shelagh thought. She winced as her daughter kicked the heels of her Mary Janes into her shins. In a year or so, Angela would be too big to sit on her lap. For now, Shelagh pressed her cheek against her daughter's head and pointed to the jumble of colors and lines on the paper. "Oh, that's a lovely picture. Who is in the picture?"

Angela's chubby finger pointed to a long scribble of browns and reds, with a circle and a blotch of black on top. "Dadda."

"Oh, is that Daddy?" She pointed to the next scrawl of colors, blue and yellow. "Who's that?"

"Mumma," Angela giggled and patted her hand.

"And this?"

"Timmy," Angela declared when Shelagh pointed to a blotch of brown and green. Tim snorted and rolled his eyes.

"And who is this?" Shelagh gave her daughter a squeeze and pointed to the fourth mix of circles and lines, these in pink and yellow.

"Angie!" Angela squealed and pointed to herself.

"That's right!" Shelagh placed a brief kiss on her daughter's blonde hair. "You're Angela." She tickled her under her ribs, and the two-year-old let out a chorus of giggles. Shelagh breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness her daughter's dark mood had dispersed. Best to leave for home while Angela was still smiling.

"Baby!" Angela crowed.

"Do you see a baby?" Shelagh looked up, on alert for a new mother in need of help. But the other children had left and no mothers remained.

Angela patted her mother's hand and pointed to her drawing again. "Baby!"

Shelagh looked down. There were five figures in the drawing. At first, she'd dismissed the last as Angela merely testing out colored pencils. But now she saw clearly five people in order. A family portrait: Patrick, herself, Timothy and Angela.

And a baby.

Angela's feet kicked her shins again and Shelagh gasped in pain. She laid a hand over her daughter's knees, stilling her legs.

"That's right Angela," Tim said. "Mum and Dad help babies. Lots of babies and their mums. Dad's a doctor and Mum's a nurse. And one day you can be too. But first we have to go home, so Mum can hang up your picture."

This excuse seemed to please Angela and she hopped off her mother's lap. Tim grinned at her and Shelagh smiled back.

"Thank you, Tim." She began to stand, but a sudden rush of heat as her stomach flipped over made her stop. She sat back down.

"Mum? Are you all right? You've gone white."

"I'm fine, Timothy. I just stood up too quickly." She took a deep breath and carefully stood. Her legs felt steady but a cold sweat pricked across the back of her neck. "I may have caught the flu from Mrs. Penney."

Tim pressed his hand to her forehead and frowned. "You don't feel warm."

Shelagh sighed at her son's concern. "Help your sister with her coat, please. I think I'll just have some water before we go."

The distance to the kitchen felt interminable, but Shelagh reached it without feeling sick or faint. She ran herself a glass of water from the tap and gulped it, and then refilled it and drank again. If she had the flu, Tim, Angela and Patrick would be ill soon too. The best thing she could do now was warn Patrick, go home, rest and pray she felt better tomorrow. As she sipped her water, she glanced down at Angela's drawing, still clutched in her hand. She could remember when Tim used to draw her pictures. He sent them to her while she was at the sanitorium. She still had some of his scribbles tucked away, along with letters from Patrick and Angela's infant nightgown. Tim didn't draw much now, except when Angela wanted to play. He was growing up so fast; he wasn't her little boy anymore. Angela too, Shelagh thought, her eyes pricking with tears. She'd dropped the last of her daughter's baby clothes in the charity box months ago. Soon Angela would be in school, and she would no longer need her mother as she did now.

Goodness, why was she crying? Over a drawing? Shelagh shook herself and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She must be exhausted. She'd go to bed with Angela tonight.

"Mrs. Turner?"

Shelagh turned, startled. Sister Ursula stood in the kitchen doorway. She quickly composed herself. "Yes, Sister?"

"I'm glad I caught you. It has come to my attention that you were unwell today." She folded her hands in front of her. "In future, if you are ill, you needn't come to clinic. Accommodations can be made."

Shelagh flushed. She didn't know why, but something about Sister Ursula's beady gaze made her feel like a postulant again. "Yes, of course, Sister," she stammered. "I would never come if I was truly ill. I wouldn't want to put our patients at risk. I'm sorry if I caused any worry. I'm sure it's only a little fatigue."

Sister Ursula regarded her with narrowed eyes. "Have you seen a doctor?"

Shelagh hid her laugh with a cough.

Sister Ursula raised an eyebrow. "Other than your husband?"

"No, but—"

"When was your last menstrual cycle?"

Shelagh's eyes widened. "Sister, that's –"

"I've a trained eye and in my experience, nurses and doctors are the last to notice their own symptoms. You're pale, you're tired and you've been eating antacids like candy all day. Any dizziness?"

Shelagh didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Sister Ursula looked so smug; she hoped this wasn't how the nun delivered happy news to all mothers. She pursed her lips and forced herself to speak calmly. "Three years ago, before I married Doctor Turner, I was treated for tuberculosis. The disease left me infertile."

The nun's sure but stern face fell. For the first time that day, she looked humbled. "Oh. Forgive me, I assumed— "

"Angela is adopted. Timothy is Doctor Turner's son from his first marriage."

"Yes, I see." The nun stared at her shoes a moment and then out the window. "Still, we must always have faith and hope." She leveled her sharp gaze at Shelagh again. "I hope you feel better soon, Mrs. Turner."

The nun turned on her heel and left. Shelagh took another moment to steady herself before walking home with her son and daughter. Timothy helped with dinner and Angela went to bed early, so both she and Patrick had the rest they needed and deserved.

But try as she might, Shelagh couldn't forget Sister Ursula's cryptic words. And when her nausea returned the following morning, and every morning after, she couldn't ignore her symptoms either. Something was wrong; all her medical knowledge told her so.

But a tiny, hopeful voice inside also wondered if this time, something could be exactly right.


	2. Chapter 2

Shelagh bid goodbye to the last patient and locked the main surgery door. Patrick was finishing up some paperwork, and then they'd make the short walk home together.

She sat in one of the chairs along the wall with two items in her hands: a child's drawing, and a brown paper envelope with the top seam ripped.

After a few moments, the door to the doctor's office opened. "What a day we've had," Patrick said with a weary sigh. But he was smiling. She took that as a sign. She had to tell him today.

Patrick sat beside her, his long legs stretched out and his arms crossed over his chest.

"I forgot to give you this." She passed him the drawing. "Angela drew it. It's a family portrait, or so I'm told."

"Is that supposed to be me?" He pointed to the long scribble of brown and black and cringed. Shelagh giggled and nodded.

"And you. And Timothy and Angela," her husband said, pointing to each bunch of colors in turn. He chuckled. "Looks like we have a budding artist in the family. What's that?" He nodded toward the envelope in Shelagh's hand.

She paused, unsure of where to begin. "Some test results," she said finally and passed the envelope to him.

Patrick turned it over. "This has your name on it." He looked at her, his face gray.

"Oh no, Patrick," she gasped. "It's nothing like that. It's – it's good, I hope."

His eyebrows drew together in a frown but he opened the envelope and took out the sheet of paper inside. Shelagh looked away, unable to watch.

"I'd been feeling unwell for a while. I thought I had the flu." Or TB again, she thought. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the test. I didn't want you to worry."

She stole a glance at her husband's profile. His eyes were wide, but beyond that she'd couldn't tell whether he felt terrified, ecstatic or was just in shock.

"How far along?" he rasped.

She shrugged. "Eight or nine weeks, I would guess. But I'll need a proper examination."

He shook his head, his brow furrowed. "But – are you sure?"

Shelagh felt her heart sink. In the back of her mind, she'd always thought that Patrick would be over-the-moon if she ever fell pregnant. She hadn't thought he'd be disappointed.

"I suppose I could have another test done," she stammered. "But all that would do is prove it."

"No, of course – I don't know what I was saying," Patrick said, with a short bark of laughter. He still wore the same gobsmacked look, his fingers clutching the edges of the paper. She couldn't stand not to know what he was thinking.

Shelagh grasped his hand. "Patrick."

"A baby," he murmured, his voice full of wonder. He turned to her, his eyes dark and glittering, and Shelagh felt a familiar sense of breathless joy. His mouth turned up in a tremulous smile. "Oh, Shelagh."

He tugged her into his arms and held her for a long moment. Shelagh clung to him and cried, half-relieved.

"We never talked about this," she sobbed.

"We didn't think it was possible," Patrick said with a warm chuckle. He pulled back, peered at her face and frowned. "Shelagh…are you glad?"

She was; that had been her first raw emotion when she'd opened the letter – unmistakable gladness. "Yes," Shelagh said, taking a moment to wipe her eyes with the corner of her nurse's apron. "But Patrick, I'm worried. What if something goes wrong? I don't think I could bear it if –" She didn't want to say the word. She knew the risks and the potential for loss. "I'm scared to hope too much."

Patrick took both her hands in his. "You'll have an examination. You'll have the best care. We can even go back to Dr. Horringer if you want. I won't let anything happen to you or our baby. You know everyone at Nonnatus would do the same."

She nodded, taking brief comfort in his words, his certainty. "I know. But I don't want to be wrapped in cotton wool either, Patrick," she said, her lips pursed. "I'm still capable of seeing patients and going on rounds. Besides, if I sat at home I'd only worry." Even now, she could imagine the disorganization at the surgery and Patrick exhausted. She'd be too busy caring for a newborn, a three-year-old and a teenager to help. They'd be lucky to ever see each other, much less work together.

Patrick grinned. "If you sat at home, _I'd_ worry. And I don't think the surgery would manage very long without you." He raised one of her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "But no more night shifts for a while, all right?"

Shelagh nodded. "No night shifts. There will be plenty of those later." She rested her free hand on her abdomen, and the enormity of her situation hit her again. So much would have to change.

"What is it?" Patrick asked, noticing her frown.

"I am happy, Patrick." She sighed. "But the surgery is doing so well. We could do so much good here."

"We still can. We still will." Patrick tilted his head and gazed at her with that fond smile she loved. "You don't have to give up nursing, Shelagh, even after the baby comes unless you want to. We found a way with Angela. We can find a way with this child."

He'd gotten right to the heart of her concerns; he shared them. "We always are at our best together," Shelagh said with a smile.

Patrick waggled his eyebrows and glanced significantly at her abdomen. "Absolutely."

"Patrick," she admonished, blushing. He laughed.

"We should tell the children soon," Shelagh continued. "Timothy's already suspicious, and I don't want him to fret."

Patrick picked up the drawing at his side. "Angela will have to add to her family portrait."

"Already done, dearest." Shelagh pointed to the small smudge of pink at the end of the row. "Baby."


End file.
